The story continues the lives of Kain and Scott Banks. Kain navigates through his heartbreak and hits a few bumps in the road. Scott tries his best to be his brothers keeper while trying to make things right with the mistakes he made. Kain gets a su...
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'You should see the scrapes and scratches on Ayla's arms and knees. You hurt her, Kain! You physically hurt her!' Scott's voice echoes in my head. I can literally fucking hear his voice through the text he sent me last night.
I was hanging out with Nolan and his bunch of punk ass friends when I got the text from Scott. As I read the text all I could hear was Scott's annoying fucking voice in my head yelling and scolding me.
After the text, I didn't feel like being around people around more because he's right, I did hurt Ayla. I made up a lie to Nolan about me having a migraine and I was going home to sleep it off. I couldn't sleep at all last night, I was to fucking pissed at myself for hurting Ayla.
Everytime I'd try to close my eyes and sleep, my mind would just fucking race and race. So, here I am at 4:22 in the morning, wide awake because I'm a horrible fuckup of a person.
I beat Brent's ass for putting his hands on Ayla and there I go, pushing her to the ground and actually hurt her.
Why do I have to get so fucking angry all the time? Why couldn't I tell that it was Ayla that was trying to get me off of Brent? Any other time my fucking senses go haywire when Ayla's around.
My case about hating myself gets stronger and stronger almost everyday. There's nothing good about me. I play hockey and I'm good at it. Great, whoopdy-fucking-doo.
Everything I touch I break or ruin. I'm not happy at all. I hurt just about everyone I come in contact with. Honestly, if I were to disappear, it'd be better for everyone's sake. Everything Davis would've willed to me, would go to Scott.
Scott would be the golden boy. I think Davis purposefully cheated on Quinn with my Mom so he could get two kids. My Mom just wanted one kid.
With me and Scott, he has an heir and a spare, whichever one we are, well, we all pretty much know who's who.
Alright, enough with the fucking pity party. I grab my phone from my nightstand and text Spencer.
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I lie but hit the send button anyway. I don't feel like training today. Every Sunday is our off-day, which was yesterday. So what if I miss two days, it's not like I'll forget how to fucking skate.
